


How Chicken Soup Saved The Day

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Crying Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Protective Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 03:56:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18438539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It’s Cas’s first time chopping onions.Dean doesn’t know Cas has been trying to make Sam soup. All he does know is that his angel in standing in the hallway, in floods of tears, and someone is going to pay for that.





	How Chicken Soup Saved The Day

Cas has commanded one of Heaven’s garrisons. He’s fought demons, monsters, and even his more powerful brothers and sisters.

He’s survived an attack from The Whore of Babylon, breached Hell on more than one occasion and developed a relativity high degree of invulnerability to Dean Winchester’s often savage tongue.

He can make a meal for Sam. 

He has the recipe card, one of the wipe clean ones from Dean’s collection. He has all the ingredients from the fridge and the pantry, lined up in the order required, on the counter.

He has all the tools he’ll require: knives, spoons, a chopping board, and the hob is warming.

Within an hour at most, Sam will have a warming bowl of chicken soup, comfort food, which might do nothing for the curse-caused flu he’s suffering from, but should help boost his spirits.

He’s seen food can have that effect on his humans, and since he can’t heal a curse (this one will have to pass, and will do in a day or so at most) this is at least something he can do to help.

But the instructions are complicated. Certain vegetables have to be chopped one way, but others need to be sliced. Some roughly (does that mean he should use _more_ force with those ones) and some finely (maybe it’s not about the force, after all, but the precision?)

And the temperature the food is to be cooked at is another thing; there seem to be a variety of different heats depending on the type of cooking device to be used.

That’s before he gets to the stock. Apparently he should be using freshly made stock, except frozen is fine, but a stock cube (if there’s no alternative) is also okay.

He stands there, staring at the bewildering instructions, and finally decides to just try his best.

As long as the food’s edible, hopefully tasty, he’s sure Sam will appreciate it. 

He puts a nob of butter in the pan and hastily starts chopping the onions.

He’s barely made a small pile when his eyes start to burn.

Cas puts the knife down, and rubs at them, wondering if perhaps Sam’s curse is contagious (highly unlikely) but that seems to make things worse.

Still, he doesn’t want the butter to burn (apparently even a liquid in cooking can burn), so he perseveres and finishes up, even though it’s hard to see what he’s doing when tears well up and nip at his eyes before rolling down his cheeks.

He must be doing something wrong.

He scoops up the onions, and tips them into the pot, turns the heat down a little, and then steps away from the cooker.

His nose is starting to feel congested, and his head is beginning to ache, a little.

And the tears won’t stop.

He hears the bunker door slam shut, which means Dean’s back; he’ll probably know what’s wrong, so Cas wipes his hands on a tea towel and heads for the library.

Dean’s just coming towards him, a brown paper bag of groceries in his arms, but when he sees Cas he lets them drop to the floor and then he’s running towards him.

“Cas, what the hell? What happened?”

“Dean, I’m-“

“Is it Sam? Did he get worse?”

Cas is puzzled, a little under siege from all the questions. “No, Sam’s the same, no worse, I was-“

“Who the hell made you cry? Tell me, right now, Cas.”

There’s a look on Dean’s voice that promises an unpleasant end to whoever’s name Cas gives him; Dean’s hands are on his shoulders, firm, secure, and he realises what Dean thinks, that someone’s hurt him or upset him, and Dean’s ready to do something about that.

“It’s not what you think,” he manages.

Dean carefully strokes his thumb across Cas’s cheek, through the damp trail on his skin.

“I was...I was trying to make soup for Sam,” Cas says. “And I was chopping the ingredients and it just started, and I don’t know what I did wrong and it won’t stop, and-“

Dean pulls a hankie from his pocket, and uses it to gently dab away the tears. Then he holds the cotton to Cas’s nose.

“Blow,” he says, and he sounds calmer, now, and Cas does, and Dean grimaces a little, then balls up the hankie and shoves it in Cas’s pocket.

“Don’t forget that’s there,” he says. “Cas, were you chopping onions?”

Cas nods.

Dean smiles. “Okay, when you’re chopping onions, you need to leave the root alone, otherwise the acid makes your eyes water. Also, I think your soup is burning.”

Cas rushes back to the kitchen, Dean on his heels, but the onion is dark brown and crispy and stuck to the bottom of the pot in a thin layer of burned butter.

Cas slumps. So much for making Sam feel better with soup.

Dean turns off the gas, and fills the sink, and dumps the pot inside.

“That takes care of killing the onions,” he jokes, and Cas feels a blush rise into his cheeks.

He doesn’t mind the joke. Because Dean genuinely thought someone had upset him, and he was ready to deal with that.

Homicidally, from his face, and that Cas knows isn’t ideal conflict resolution, but all the same…

“I ruined the soup.”

Dean’s closing the space between them, eyes fixed on Cas. “I’ve got a batch in the freezer. It’s still good, we just need to put it in the microwave.”

“I’m not a great cook. It was meant to be a surprise for Sam and now there is no surprise because I ruined it.”

He’s babbling and he doesn’t know why, and suddenly Dean’s right there, pressing against him, so close that Cas could…

“It’s okay,” he says, and then he kisses Cas.

It’s the most gentle thing Cas is sure he’s ever experienced, as if Dean thinks he’s something to be handled with the utmost care, something due reverence and kindness and …

Love.

Dean pulls away, slowly, reluctantly.

He smiles at Cas, and it’s a smile Cas has never seen from him before.

“I’m gonna get that soup for Sam,” Dean says. “And then...if you want...we’ll do that again.”

Cas nods. He wants. He really, _really_ wants.

But he helps Dean with the soup first, and follows him in with it to check on Sam, and then…

Then Dean takes his hand and Cas follows him to his room.


End file.
